


My Addiction, Your Disease

by maliceandscars



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliceandscars/pseuds/maliceandscars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I think he had a hard time finding someone as sick as himself to fulfill his darker sides of foreplay.</p><p>As sick as me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I forget all the scars that you burned in Me.

Even if he'd never admit it, and I think he would have killed me if I ever said it out loud, it was mutual. The owning, I mean.

He could fuck whoever he wanted, really. And so could I.

Well.

Within reason, I guess.

He still was able to pull me away for whatever reason, no questions asked, at a moments notice. But we could sleep around. That didn't matter as much because people could fuck each other and walk away without knowing the others names or giving a shit. And frankly, I think he had a hard time finding anyone as sick as him to fulfill his darker sides of foreplay.

As sick as me.

No, the owning wasn't about sex. He owned me long before that had come along. If anything, the sex is the part I like least about it. Don't get me wrong, it's hard not to enjoy sex. But it's...

Different. I'm a guy. Who likes women. Breasts. The works. I completely slayed girls' hearts in college. My aim has always been perfect, and I'm not just talking about my guns. I could joke that the boss is so flamboyant at times that he's close enough to a girl that it fools me, but he can be carnal and viscous and predatory as any wild animal ad the drop of a fucking pin. And since we're still being frank, during sex, he is anything but feminine.

Jim owned me legally, first. Not so much my body as my life. Contracts, you know? I think the piece of paper actually read: _My Services are not to be renounced or revoked until either I or my superior have perished. If agreed, initial here: ______

I'm not exaggerating, either. I signed a bloody contract saying that this man, who I barely knew at the time, would only let me stop working for him if he or I were dead. Looking back, I had no idea why I did it at the time. Discharged, without honor, angry and stupid... That's the kind of people Jim attracted. People who were too fucking stupid to do anything for themselves. People who had no one else to turn to. Like moths to a bug zapper.

Not that I'm as dumb as the rest of them. Sure, I'm nowhere near Jim, but I'm Eton and Oxford alumnus. I was a Colonel, and am a Sniper. Any dick out there could be an army grunt who can kick ass, but if you're really looking to be on Moriarty's good side, you have to know more than a few drills.

Maybe it was my lack of fear when it was needed, and my lack of morals when it was called up upon. Maybe it was the fact that while I know that I didn't show any signs of being afraid of him, that little shit knew that I was terrified of him.

That's how it started, anyway. With a contract saying that he could order me to do anything and I would be legally bound to do it. It wasn't even a 'he says jump, I say how high' kind of thing. It was completely detailed. If he said jump, It would come with a location, a time and place, a detailed list of what he wanted me to take with me, and what to do when I landed. To which I would just simply

Jump.

At least, that's how it was in the beginning. Before he started owning more and more of me. Bit by bit.

Scar by scar.


	2. My Breath, You Take

Oddly enough, our first meeting was pretty normal.

Well, as normal as these kinds of things go. I needed a job, and he needed skilled hands, so he did what Jim did best. He fixed things. But the devil's in the details, and I was positive for the longest time that Jim was the devil. I'm still not fully convinced he isn't. I remember how easily I went along with him at first. He's like that. Draws you in, and gives your orders without even looking at you. Without giving you a fucking word to go on.

He had called me, at first. Not with his voice. His last second in command. He called, and I could tell that Jim was speaking into his other ear, telling him exactly what to say. I think the guy knew right off the bat too that I would be replacing him pretty quickly. It sounded like he didn't care, while at the same time he was utterly terrified. I found out later he was mentally unstable. He thought Jim was God. I can see how someone with no conception of reality would think that. 

He asked me if I was busy, if I had anyting else going on. Any steady jobs, anything long term. He knew damn well hat the anser was. That I was broke, and about to start starving myself. I told him to shove it. He laughed, I know he laughed, because the guy he was talking through had no idea what to do. If he was supposed to laugh as well, or just ait for his boss to continue. Maybe that's what got him killed in the end. I'll never know exactly what it was. He then offered a job to me. Something simple. Turns out he knew the guy a long time ago, back when he was in primary school. He had a list of them, actually. Saved them for trials if he needed new employees. That way he got rid of people he hated, but never had to pay anyone for it if they screwed the job over, and never caused a big scene. Actually a pretty smart idea. He was always clever. 

I took the job, and it was fairly easy. Pierced both his ears in the same exact place, and tore through his skull. I like perfect shots, yeah, but I like artistry ith my job. Whoever said murder's not an art? Anyway, I got him, then I immediatly get a follow-up call. Jim wants to meet, in person, with no one between up to do the talking. The guy at this point sounds hysterical. He died, two days after the call. I mean, I killed him. One of my first assignments as a second in command. Jim thought It would be symbollic, killing the guy I was replacing. 

I get to the location. Some normal apartment. Comfortable, but not very fancy. Ikea furniture. Decorated with... eh, 'taste', if that's what you wanna call it, but not expensive. Not something I expected to meet him in. He was lounging on the couch, flipping through a book written in... Polish? Sweedish? I have no idea. He could learn any language and speak it almost fluently in less than two weeks. I think he was learning Sweedish. I coughed.

This little prick holds up a finger and  _hums._  He reads three more fucking pages before chuckling over something, and closing the book. He folds his hands in his lap and looks up at me with the most... carnal and knowing smile that I almost snap to attention right then and there.

"Sebastian Moran." He said, his smile ringing in his voice. I didn't expect him to be Irish. 

"Moriarty." I nod back. I'm not standing at attention at this point, but I'm damn close to it. 

"Jim Moriarty." He corrected. He could tell that I had wanted to address him the same way he had addressed me. 

I gaped at him. " _Jim?_ " I asked, raising my eyebrow. But, c'mon. Could you blame me? I meet THE big bad, and his first name is  _Jim_?

He dropped the smile, and my body temperature dropped ten degrees. "James. But I prefer Jim. Throws people off." he said with a deadly still voice. I nodded. 

"I take it that I call you something else entirely." I said, my voice steady. It wasn't that I wasn't scared shitless of him, because I was. No, I was just damn certain that I was going to regard him as more than 'Jim Moriarty'. 

He smiled again, and I didn't feel any better. "Sir. You can call me Sir."

I smiled back at him, showing my right canine tooth. "Does that mean I'm hired, Sir?"

He seemed to light up at that. I don't think people showed him much joy in the jobs he gave them. Sure, I knew I had no choice, but what else was I being offered? A spot on the sidewalk with nothing in my stomach, and my guns in a pawn shop up in East Germany, while my two idiot sisters collected the inheritence I was kicked out of? This man may be a smug sadistic little asshole, but what he was offering me was what everyone looked for. A job they loved to do, being paid at a rate that made them essentially rich, for life. The people who didn't appreciate that were morons.

"That means you're hired, Moran. Whiskey?" He lulled, opening his book back up and gesturing to the lounge chair next to him. 

"Yes, Sir." I nodded, taking the seat next to him and propping my feet up on the coffee table. He looked up at me from over the book and glared. I put them down right away, and he went back to the book without a word. 

I put them right back up as soon as he looked away. He placed the book pages down on his lap and took out a small green pocket knife. He placed the tip of the blade against my shin and manuvered it until my feet were back on the floor. I knew he was serious about the 'no feet on the coffee table' rule, but as he picked the book back up again, I could've sworn I saw him smile.

"On the rocks?" He asked with a lilt. 

"Yes, sir." I smiled, relaxing in the chair.

"They're actual rocks."

"No shit?"

"Mhm. Clear Quartz, carved and polished, then put in the freezer."

"Carved into what?"

"Carved to look like  _ice._ " He chuckled. 

"Clever." I nodded.

"I know." He yawned.


	3. I'm Going Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Let me start by saying that I don't have a beta, and I usually post these in the dark at three am before my classes the next day. Which is also why I don't update as often as I should, and I apologize profusely for that.
> 
> So if there are any mistakes, I'd actually really appreciate it if y'all pointed it out and told me if anything is wrong with it.
> 
> Oh, yeah. Um... I'm not sure if I want to post the next chapter as just a detailed description of what Sebastian did to Jim when he... ah... got pissed, i guess, or If I just want to continue on with the story. 
> 
> So I'll leave it up to you guys. I have both already all worked out in my head,I just have to get time in my busy day to write it all down. Let me know what you think!

By now, I had been working as Jim Moriarty's second in command for two years. We'd done a hell of a lot of jobs, and set a few wonderful downfalls. But even I admit that the most interesting times were when he set up small things. Little murders, disappearences. Kidnappings. Things i never imagined myself doing. I had gone from potential sniper, to Overseer of operations. The muscle behind the dog's jaw that had become James Moriarty. 

He had a problem with his first name. Maybe it was because he hated his family, I guess. Named after his old man, and so were his siblings. I think he had siblings, anyway. It was never clear. Anything about Jim's past was a guess based on observations made of ordinary people and compared to observations of him. It goes without saying that I could get little real fact out of that. But the inklings held up when I fell back on them. 

Things may have started to get complicated with us at the pool. The pool was a sorf of big deal, but it was set up like all the little jobs. He even sent me to pick up some very expensive, very illegal wine from some past posh client who owed him way more than something to drink with his fancy ass dinner. It was a big bottle though, and I was curious enough to ask him if he planned on drinking it alone. I wasn't surprised when he shook his head. Much too big a bottle for such a leprechaun of a man.

"You've done a better job than I expected. When this all ends, you might as well celebrate along with me." 

I didn't expect that, though. Even with the backhanded compliment, I sensed bitterness, even if I couldn't hear it in his voice or see it in his posture. That man could act. But he was right. It was a fucking hard task, and the only time I ever had a moment to relax was when I was setting up travel accomidations for the Golem, or when I was walking through the brick dust that used to be the blind old biddy and her twelve apostles. Casualties are casualties in any war, and the kind of war that Jim had started was his favorite game: Chess. Essentially war on a checkerboard. With london's lovely little ebony and ivory tiles, this Holmes bloke turned out to be Jim's chosen opponent.

I always said the little shit would make a great queen.

Get it? The chess queen and Jim was.... You know what, fuck it. Nevermind. 

It took months to set this one up, and we were only slightly lower in funds than we had expected, what with the fucking china men and their circus turning out to be just that, a fucking circus. But since Holmes never even looked for that Jaria diamond, Jim took the opportunity and that rock did make the low bank account not so significant.

Kidnapping and relaying messages from some poor random sap to Jim was the part about this whole thing that I understood, and I knew that eventually we would get the Detective and his pet in the same room on Jim's terms, and that the Doc would turn out to be Jim's shiny new ivory polished chess piece. Watson may have been the pawn Holmes was just about to trade in for a queen, but I was the damn rook with no one in my way to take the poor bastard out.

But like any game, Jim had to play a few bluffs.

One such bluff was the damn red light he attached to my beautiful gun, and the two hundred or so tiny fucking mirrors I had to stick around that damned pool. I was allowed to place a dozen or so wherever the hell I wanted or thought might do some good, but mostly I just stuck to Jim's plans and placed them where he told me to.

After Johnny-cakes was strapped in for the ride, all I had to do was sit back and wait to play my part. I couldn't leave my post now, even to piss, and if I did I'd end up like the poor saps who grabbed Watson off the street. Expendable. 

Then the detective barges in cockey and arrogant as all high hell spewing off some supposedly impressive deduction, which is cute to me considering the whole point was for him to come up with that little factoid to get him here by Jim's devine plan. Then, a hired foot kicks Watson's ass out the door and Jim starts talking his ear off. The bloke looks pissed, but I couldn't blame him, even if it was funny as fuck.

Then all the shit hit the fan.

"I gave you my number..."

What?

"I thought you might call."

I would know that whiny Irish cocksucker's voice anywhere. I flipped open the expensive mobile he issued me and I sent the dick a text, knowing that if he really wanted to, he actually would flip it out and answer it in front of them and not give a shit if it were traditionally impolite.

Turns out, he didn't want to. So he didn't.

I hissed to myself and bent over my scope, trying my damndedst to keep Jim in my sights the entire time, which is a little bit difficult then I'm supposed to be keeping a red eye on The brain's heart. The stupid Irish bastard wasn't supposed to show his face, but I guess he couldn't help himself. He was one for showing off. I don't think I'd be able to just sit and listen, either. I don't blame him much for this one.

Jim wasn't the queen in this game anymore, no. He had turned himself into the King, in all his jewels and glory. He was high commander and criminal monarch. All hail the true king of England. An I, as much as it physically pains me to say it, was the queen in this game now. The deadliest weapon the king commanded, and with the most tacticle advantage, who's highest command was to protect the the crown and eliminate it's enemies. And like any good soilder, I did what my higher up told me to do, silent command or not.

The Doc grabbed at Jim and Iknew exactly what little mirror to aim for to make him let go of the boss.

"You've rather shown your hand there, Dr.Watson." I couldn't help it. I smirked at that. Always games, with Jim. Always. I kept my eyes on them, talking and joking and... well,  _flirting._

Then, like it started, it was over.

With stupidity.

"Catch. You. Later." Smug asshole.

"No you wont!" Even more smug asshole. 

As soon as I knew Jim was out of their earshot, I slammed that little bastard into a row of poolhouse lockers and and lifted him off the ground and held him there. God save the queen.

"What the fuck?"

"What the fuck,  _sir."_ He corrected, and I used his fancy blue westwood to slam him into the metal boxes again.

"We can't let them go." I growled.

"Yes we can. I just did." He chirped, looking much too pleased with himself. My eyes narrowed and at that moment, I was sure I had figured out his game here. It shouldn't have surprised me that Jim wouldbe the kind of man to sti and play eight games of chess at once. On one of his boards I was queen, on another I was bishop, and on this one, I was the Black pieces where he was the white. He always was the first to make the move. I suppose many would say that white represents purity and innocence,and black the opposite, and maybe I had dirtied my hands more than he ever could, but he was in no way the white pure dove compared to my black. Out of the two of us, people should have picked me to answer to, and not him. Much easier on them. But looks can be decieving, I suppose.

"I'm going back out there, and getting rid of them. For good."I growled.

"No, you aren't." Jim ordered, and I gritted my teeth. I'd never had a problem with authority. Soilder, remember? I just had an addiction to bloodlust that got out of hand. Disobeying direct orders was hard for me when my senses weren't clouding over with said lust.

"Yes, I bloody well am. They know your face, they know you let them go, and now they know your name. They can not. Fucking. Go." I told him, my fists unfurling in his suit and I started to step away when... I couldn't.

Jim had reached out and pulled me back with a hiss in my ear. "No, you bloody  _fucking_ well are not, unless you want me to kill you too."

I don't know what happened after that, but I couldn't breathe right. Everything was hard to focus on and his voice was  _right in my fucking ear._

"It's my job." I head someone say. I think it was me. The voice sounded way more confident than I felt though.

"I'll make you a deal." Jim cooed, and I knew that if it was a physical object, Jim would be bounding my soul back and forth between his palms. "Let me go and get back to your post, and I'll end them." he whispered it like a promise I'd heard by a hell of a lot of women tell me before, and if I had been ten years younger, I probably would have groaned just at that. 

I didn'tmake any such sound, but I did let him go. He straightened his suit and turned away from me with a smirk like he had won this paticular game, and I fled back to my perch. 

As fucked up as the situation was, i still smiled at the looks on Holmes and Watson's faces.

"Sorry boys! I'm so changable!" He was saying it to me almost as much as he was to the dynamic duo. 

"It is a weakness of mine, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness."

And that was what shot ice through my veins.

All this time I had kept on Jim's favorable side. I'd done a damn good job of not pissing him off, and here he was, basically telling me that I was the weak point in his game. That my mistake had caused him to come back out there and force their deaths. 

That I had ruined his favorite game.

That I was, essentially, dead.

So I did the only thing i could do. cover my own ass. I picked up my own phone and made a call that could or could not save my life.

"I need you to have those pictures,  _now._ " i growled into the speaker.

"I just so happen to-"

"I'm patching you through to him." I cut her voice off and dialed Jim's number.

Turns out he has his texts on silent. Calls are apparently more important. I have no idea how that fucker's mind really works, okay? Don't ask me.

And, for the record, what the hell kind of psycopathic criminal of the century has a personalized ringtone of The BeeGees?

"Say that again!" He roars, and I know I may have just pissed him off twice in one day. "Say that again and know If you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skiiiiiiiinn you." he tells her.

"Oi." And I think that one is directed at me, to pack up my things and high tail it out of there, so I do.

A few minutes later, he slides into the car next to me and the driver pulls away. 

"Boss." I nod, my breathing as relaxed as it couldbe, though I could feel myself growing colder and deader by the second.

And Jim just smirks.

"I knew there is a reason I liked you." He shook his head. "Do you know why I wanted those pictures from Miss Adler?" He asked, looking at me. I say nothing, and he knows that means I have no fucking clue.

"To continue my game with the detective." He smiles, and it all clicks. Everything I had done tonight, including going against his orders and making a plan of my own to save my ass, was planned by him. Every fucking thought that went through my head was constructed to play into his little game, and I saw fucking red.

I think by the time the red had cleared, I had just collapsed onto his kitchen floor, naked as the day I was born and a bit as bloody, while Jim slid down from his marble countertops to the tiles across from me, button up shirt hanging from his shoulders and tie still on. There were marks around his neck, some from the tie being pulled on and giving him rope burn, and some bruises from sucking and some bleeding teeth marks. The guy looked like hehad been beaten half to death, and even I could tell he was dazed.

"Fucking hell, Moran." He laughed slightly.

"Nope, the devil." I retorted quickly, and he laughed again.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, So When I started writing this fic, I got the title of the fic and all it's chapter titles from one song. It's not a well known song, and the band only released one album back in 2005 before splitting up, and they haven't done anything since, even though that album was extraordinary. so I'm going to post the lyrics to the song just for fun because, It's three am, and supernatural is on my netflix right now and I need a distraction from the man who knew too much.

Look me in the face when you spit out another lie

Is there an end to this abuse?

Even though I forget

Every scar that you burned in me

Underneath I regret that I let you get the best of me

 

My breath you take. why do you need to suffocate me?

You bleed my veins. how do you drain the life right from me?

(woah yeah)

It never stops my addiction your disease 

(woah yeah)

It never stops my addiction,

My addiction your disease 

 

If I go out further I think I can almost reach

Is there a cure for this disease?

Even though I forget all the crosses that you cut in me.

I'm still weak and you're still sick.

Will you always get the best of me?

 

My breath you take. why do you need to suffocate me?

You bleed my veins. how do you drain the life right from me?

(woah yeah)

It never stops my addiction your disease 

(woah yeah)

It never stops my addiction,

It's just enough to thrill me.

It's just enough to kill me.

Even when I feel so close I'm going,

I'm going under.

 

My breath you take. why do you need to suffocate me?

You bleed my veins. how do you drain the life right from me?

(woah yeah)

It never stops my addiction your disease 

(woah yeah)

It never stops my addiction,

(whoa yeah)

It never stops my adicttion, addiction

(whoa yeah)

My addiction your disease

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please be gentle. Not my first fanfiction, but certainly my first Seb/Jim. Anyway... Enjoy?


End file.
